


Hall Pass

by et_velata



Category: Frozen (2013), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, F/M, Felsa, Flogging, Ice Play, Near Past, No Threesome, No three way, Open Marriage, ethical non-monogamy, sex positivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 08:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9227057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/et_velata/pseuds/et_velata
Summary: Rapunzel loves her faithful husband Eugene, and when he shows an interest in a sex club, she suggests that they try it out. There, Eugene meets Elsa, an experienced "top", who guides him into a role play fantasy and new sensation experiences.Open ended, somewhat WAFF, & written in reaction to "Elsa's Dungeon" by Sinner Comics.





	

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Whenever they drove past the Sex Positive Community Center -- the sex club -- Eugene would slow the car down slightly and glance at the nondescript building. For the longest time, Rapunzel didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t as if they had a big sign out front, advertising that it was an adult playground. The sign was small and discreet. One of the times when they drove past, she made sure to look for it, made a note of the acronym that gave nothing away, and looked it up when she got home.

She was surprised that anything like it existed at all. It wasn’t as if they lived in Las Vegas or San Francisco. Theirs wasn’t a racy city. Rapunzel had never heard the term “sex positive.” She spent over an hour reading the website and going through the event calendar description with her eyes wide in astonishment. At the end of it, she felt she had learned something. She loved learning new things, and she liked having new information to think about.

The next time they drove a route that went past the sex club, Rapunzel asked her husband, “Eugene, do you want to go there sometime?” and therefore almost caused a three car pile-up. Luckily for their insurance rate, Eugene had quick reflexes and recovered from the surprise quickly enough to get back on the correct side of the road.

“There?” he asked in a voice at once innocent and strangled.

“To the Sex Positive Community Center,” Rapunzel confirmed. “Every time we go by, you pause and look. I thought maybe you wanted to go there.”

“You know what happens there, right, Rapunzel honey?” he asked. At the next open space along the curb, he pulled the car over and put it in park. He turned off the engine and gave her his full attention.

Rapunzel tucked a lock of her short brown hair behind her ear. “There’s a new member orientation on Saturday. And a party after. I’m not working Saturday, and neither are you.”

Eugene’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish questioning its life choices as it flopped around on the wrong side of the fishbowl glass. Another leap could just as easily land it on the floor as back to safety. “Is that something… you, um, want to do?”

“Eugene,” Rapunzel started the speech she had prepared, “you’ve always been a good husband, a _partner_ , to me.” The sex-positive blog had used the word “partner” a lot. “You’re faithful, and I trust you more than anything. If there is something we can do together that will make our bond stronger, especially if there is something that I can do to show you how much I love and trust you, then that’s a good experience for us. Don’t you think?”

Eugene let out a sigh that ended with a small groan. Eyes closed at first, he answered, “I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“Are you mad?” she asked.

“No-o,” he was quick to answer. “But,” he took another deep breath and let it out, “do we need to have sex in front of strangers to feel closer to each other?”

Rapunzel had taken some quizzes and been given food for thought by many of the questions. She was fairly certain she was pansexual, now that she had given her attraction to others substantial examination. She was now aware, too, that there were more options than either being monogamously faithful or cheating. She answered, “I thought you might be interested in being with a different woman. Or any person, if you want to.”

“What?”

“Just to see what it’s like?” she offered.

“What?” Eugene repeated, with even less air behind the word. He covered his mouth with his hand, rubbed his chin, and then rubbed at his eyes.

“Tell me the truth,” Rapunzel asked. “I mean it. Be completely truthful. If it was just a one-time thing, and you had my permission, would you like to make love to someone other than me?”

“It wouldn’t be making love.” Eugene looked her in the eyes. “I don’t think I can answer that question, because I don’t know. The thing is, if we try swinging, I know that means you’ll be with some other guy.” His mouth twisted with unhappiness. “I’m already jealous just thinking that there _is_ some hypothetical guy, so it wouldn’t be fair for me to think I can have my cake and, you know, eat it too.” He gave her a helpless look. “There… isn’t some guy, is there?”

“What if there was a lady? Would that be hot?”

“Oh, Blondie,” Eugene laughed.

“Come on. I’m your wife. I’ve seen your browser history,” she teased.

“If going to this place is something you want to do,” Eugene started.

Rapunzel interrupted. “If you won’t admit it, then let’s say it’s my idea,” she said.

The edge to her words gave him pause. After a moment, he said, “I admit it.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Rapunzel cajoled, “ _Eu-gene,_ ” tunefully drawing his name out into long syllables. It got a smile out of him.

“Alright, I admit it. You know I wouldn’t cheat on you, but if you were OK with it, I would be curious, yeah, about being with… a woman who isn’t you.” He smile turned rueful. “I was never as much of a ladies man as I pretended to be before I met you. I guess every guy wants to sow his oats before he settles down. But you liked bookish Eugene, so being some flashier guy stopped seeming important. So that’s me. Eugene Fitzherbert, law abiding citizen, all around good egg.”

Rapunzel nudged him on his arm. “So let’s play make believe for a night,” she suggested. “You can be that rogue, and I’ll be, an adventuress. And at the end of the night, we’ll kick off our magic shoes and go home together to our happily ever after.” She leaned over and gave him a peck on the lips.

xxx

They dressed up in their sexiest clothes, helping each other decide on what looked hottest, and went to the new member orientation meeting. Eugene drew the line at buying leather pants, but Rapunzel was able to convince him into a silky button up top, close-fitting jeans, boots, and his leather jacket. She styled his hair with some of her product so that a few locks softened his face, giving him a devil-may-care tousle. She transformed her own look with white leather pants, a halter top that made her modest bosom look like an asset, seductive eye makeup, and chunky platform shoes that gave her extra inches of height. Her only jewelry was her wedding ring. Eugene wore his wedding ring, too.

At the orientation meeting, one of the senior members of the club led a serious but friendly discussion of community rules and expectations. They talked about respect, personal responsibility, negotiation, safe words, and above all, consent. Some details were unexpected, like the rule against all cell phones because of their cameras. The club was run by volunteers, and the rules were enforced by the given event’s “staff”. Everyone went by a “club name,” and members were not to out other members or guests if they happened to meet them outside of the club in daily life.

Rapunzel decided to go by “Blondie,” Eugene’s sometimes-nickname for her, dating from when she had had long, blonde tresses. He called himself “Flynn.” The experienced, longtime club veteran emphasised that the members of the club really were a community, so it could take time until new faces became accepted as part of the community. She encouraged them not to expect a wild night for their first introduction, but to be social and experiment. 

And to get naked.

Minutes after the meeting was over, the club’s dance night started. Eugene, Rapunzel, and the other newbies helped move the stacking chairs back into storage and rearrange the other furniture to clear the dance floor. “Isn’t this nice?” Rapunzel said to Eugene. “We’re already contributing.” She saw Eugene watching newly arrived club members rolling out a large, wooden X. They centered it in a quarter of the room, in plain sight of the entire room, and locked the wheels. A young man of slight build, who was only wearing a small triangle of black leather and a lot of studded straps, climbed up on it to check the bondage restraints. When he was done, he turned to an older man in all black and gave him a thumbs up.

People were already walking around, or lounging in groups talking, nearly or completely naked. Rapunzel thought the mood seemed more playful than lurid. Grabbing Eugene by the arm, she hauled him off toward a bank of lockers so that they could stow their stuff away. Since the DJ had started, filling the space with bass beats, she decided to ditch her ambitious shoes in the locker bin where she stowed her purse.

“Leave your jacket,” she encouraged Eugene.

“It’s part of my look,” he protested, but he let her pull the leather jacket off his shoulders anyway. He kissed her then, pushing her up against the lockers, hands gripping her hips and his ardor intense.

He led her out onto the floor. Half of the club was cleared for dancing. A corner, bordered by a kitchen bar-style counter, marked out an area with snack food, drinks, and a small kitchen. Doors to the restrooms were down a small hall on the other side of a layout that was part living room, part dungeon. Past the dungeon zone on the other side was the room with large beds.

The club hadn’t filled yet, and the activity was still mostly contained to talking in the main room. Sounds of someone being spanked echoed out of the back room. Rapunzel and Eugene shared a private laugh; they took a free space on a long L-shaped couch and returned to making out. Eugene pulled back when Rapunzel shed her top, but then he pulled her close again to cover her bare tits with his body.

“What are you doing?” he asked her in a low voice.

“Getting naked!” she murmured back. She unbuttoned the waist of her clingy leather pants. Her fingers moved to the buttons on his shirt.

“Woah, now, Blondie,” he blustered. “Slow down.”

Rapunzel sat up so that she straddled his lap. She held his hands against her thighs and rolled her shoulders back with a toss of her short hair. She could feel eyes on her, looking at her figure. The tight leather flattered her well-toned butt. Topless, she felt like a model, showing off the curve of her back and teacup breasts that looked bigger when she wasn’t covering them. Her nipples were hard, tan nubs, and she felt sexy. Her toes curled.

“I’m going to dance!” she said, giving Eugene a fast kiss on the tip of his nose before bounding out of his lap. She joined in on the dance floor, bouncing with a half-dozen other brave people. Her addition invoked more interest in dancing, and several others got up from their seats and included themselves in the rhythm.

Eugene gave up his seat when a couple slammed themselves down on the other end, oblivious to anything but each other. He let the women have the couch to themselves, trying not to look at them too closely in spite of the pornographic things they were already doing together. He wandered around the room. It was starting to get where there was no safe place to direct his eyes. A naked guy was up, face forward, on the Saint Andrew’s cross, getting beaten with a cane. Eugene backed up against a pillar and watched his wife dancing, instead.

“‘So, this is what a party looks like,’ you’re thinking,” said a plush voice at his ear.

He was afraid to look. In the corner of his eye he could see cleavage, with a pale blonde braid laying over the curve. “Something like that,” he answered without turning his head.

“Are you here with someone?” she asked.

“My wife,” Eugene answered, relieved to be able to say it. “Blondie, there,” he remembered to use her pseudonym, “the brunette in the white pants.” He watched Rapunzel. “Uh, in the purple thong,” he amended weakly. She wiggled her fingers at Eugene. He waved back, trying to smile.

“Nice ass,” his conversational companion noted with humor in her tone.

He turned to assess her before thinking it through, and then it was too late. She was stunning, jaw-dropping gorgeous, and dressed to kill. Her hourglass figure was encased in light blue latex that could have been poured onto her body, from the way it stretched over her contours. The mini skirt ended with a hemline at the top of her white thighs. He had seen more modest outfits on Vegas showgirls. 

Nothing obstructed those long, shapely legs. She wore shoes with three inch, steel heels that could kill a man. A gold chain, as thin as a whisper, circled her neck, and a small, oval sapphire hung from it and nested in her modest cleavage. In spite of her glamorous makeup and the feathered hair, there was nothing soft about her, not even the smile she had turned on him.

“Yours, too,” she said.

“Sorry?” he queried.

“You have a nice ass?” she repeated, a laugh bubbling up after the compliment. She offered her hand. “I’m Elsa.”

“Flynn,” Eugene offered, trying it out. It reminded him that he was supposed to be acting the part of a rogue, confident to the point of arrogance. “You have a nice…” he looked her over, up and down, in a way more apparent, “suprasternal notch.”

Her eyelids dropped down provocatively. Her blue eyes glittered through the slits, and her mouth was a curve of ruby. “Since you’re not dancing, are you free to play?”

Eugene realized that he was. “What do you have in mind?”

“Would you like to have sex?” Elsa asked him.

“Um.” Alcohol was not allowed in the club. Eugene needed liquid courage to answer that question, and the strongest drink in proximity was Red Bull.

Elsa’s laugh was music. “I find it makes sense to be straightforward, especially with new faces. It’s not a loaded question, and you can say no without hurting my feelings.”

“No one ever says no to you,” Eugene stated with certainty.

“Oh, I like bratty play partners, too,” said Elsa. “That’s why we use safe words. Sometimes you want no to mean yes.”

“When you say play partners,” Eugene ventured. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I’m a top,” she answered, reaching out one of her slim fingered hands. It landed on Eugene’s jawline, her palm touching his goatee. “I take the active role. That means I do things to my play partner.”

“What kind of things?” Eugene asked, pretending to be bold.

“Lots of things. My favorites are bondage and ice play. I enjoy administering all kinds of sensation play and watching my bottoms squirm, until they are almost mad with desire for me.” She walked her fingers down his jawline, dropped her hand to his chest, and caressed a center line down to his navel. “You can find out first hand. Are you game?”

Eugene swallowed. “Sure,” he said “Let’s go.”

“Alright, but no being coy. I still need an answer,” she responded. “Would you like to have PIV sex with me? If not, we can play without finishing with intercourse. We can get off with oral or manual sex, too.”

In that moment, Eugene’s chest filled to bursting with love for his wonderful wife and gratitude for the hall pass she had given him. He turned his head to find her in the crowd. She was dancing with total abandon, clearly having fun. Her dance partners alternated between a cute redhead in twin braids and an ugly guy with a hunched back, and Eugene decided then and there that Rapunzel could have anything she wanted, forever, even if it was a three way with two complete strangers. Every day with her was a dream, and now she had given him this fantasy, too.

“Let’s have sex,” he answered. “The whole vault. Take me up to the roof and show me the view,” he declared.

“Not the roof, cowboy,” Elsa answered. “The dungeon.” She took hold of his belt at the front and pulled him behind her as she strutted toward the back room. “A word of advice: it’s a good idea to know the lyrics before you commit to the whole song and dance.”

“Where do we get started?” He threw himself into his role. Flynn wasn’t fazed by the couples and moresomes fucking and cuddling on the beds in the back room. Flynn didn’t cringe at the smack of leather on a bare behind. Eugene kept his eyes on Elsa’s hypnotic sway. She led him through the room to an empty corner. There was a large carpet bag on the floor, dark green and embroidered with dark pink, six petaled flowers. The mouth of it was open. Elsa crouched down -- a blood pressure raising sight -- and pulled out a bundle of dark blue hemp rope and a bundle of natural greyish-brown rope.

Elsa beckoned him close. “We get started by talking,” she said.

Eugene clasped his hands together. “Whatever you say, Mistress Elsa.”

The title made Elsa wrinkle her nose. “I’m not a dominatrix,” she informed him, “and if I were, I would punish you for making that assumption.” She swatted him lightly on the side of his seat with her handful of rope. “I think we should role play,” she suggested. “Who do you feel like being, Flynn?”

Eugene, already roleplaying, found the question amusing. He smirked. “I’m basically your Han Solo type,” he said, sidling up close to Elsa, getting an arm around her waist, “here to sweep you off your feet and steal your heart with a smoulder.” He looked deeply into her eyes, leaning in to steal a kiss.

She blocked him with her fingers against his lips. “I think you’re nothing more than a thief with delusions of grandeur,” she replied, but there was teasing in her expression that took the sting out of her words. “And when thieves get caught, they hang.”

“Then I guess you’re the queen that will hang me for my crimes,” he traded back. Eugene made a living telling stories. This scenario was right up his dark alley, and he planned to mug it for everything in its pockets. “Even though I’ve taken from you the one thing you least want,” he said.

“And what would that be?”

“Your loneliness,” he answered. “The cold, empty space in your bed.” He was rewarded with the widening of her eyes and her smile. 

Elsa was impressed. Flynn was a romantic. He was going to be so much fun to mess with. “We will keep safewords simple,” she said. “Red, yellow, green. If you can’t remember, just use plain English. If you get thirsty or you need a bathroom break, say so. Now, thief -- strip. You don’t get to keep nice clothes in Queen Elsa’s dungeon. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

Eugene licked his lips. He began with his shirt cuffs and keeping his breathing steady. Elsa walked in a circle around him. When his shirt was off, she dragged the coiled rope over his bare back, shoulders, arms, and chest. It was softer than he expected, still scratchy but not like a doormat or twine, more like a piece of well-worn knotted hemp choker. He crouched to unlace his boots. His head was now at the level of her swiveling hips. He dared a wet kiss on her thighs as she passed him, and his lips landed on an inside placement. His face was at the hemline of her dress. He filled his nose with the enticing scent of woman.

Surprised by the little shiver he gave her when when his moist lips connected with the inside of her thigh, Elsa paused her circling. She let Flynn get away with dropping onto his knees. As his head went in and up toward her crotch, she grabbed a fistful of hair and slowly but firmly pulled his head back. “Strip,” she reiterated. She let his hair go when he got back up to his feet.

Rope wasn’t her first choice, but until a bed with a canopy frame became available, she wanted to use the suspension points in the beams, and nothing was safer than a length of good hemp rope. The aesthetic was perfect, too, for their thief-and-queen role play. She hoped Flynn was as athletic as he looked. When his shirt came off, she was pleased to see that he was as good of a specimen of man-flesh as could be. The muscles in his back and shoulders looked good enough to lick. He had good pectorals, and his abdomen had just the slightest softness to it. He was well groomed and had the sexy scent of artisan soap. Husbands usually were better groomed than single men. 

Naked, he stood with his hands on his hips, his chin up, and his pelvis shifted forward, showing off his full glory like a Grecian statue. He had a lot to offer. A slight flush along the back of his neck and his ears betrayed him; he wasn’t as used to bragging as his posture suggested. Elsa found that charming. Poor darling. She would make sure he had a good experience with their scene.

She stood behind him. Taking his wrists by the tips of her fingers, she guided his arms behind his back and his wrists together, a preview of what was to come. She put her chin on his shoulder. “Is it OK if I bruise you?” she asked. She saw his throat bob with his swallowing.

“A souvenir might be… might be nice,” he answered.

“Mmm.” She let his wrists go and brought her arms around in front of him. “Do you see that anchor point on the beam above? I want you to get this rope through it, doubled.”

“You could have had me do that while I still had clothes on,” he noted.

“I could have,” she said, “and I didn’t.”

Eugene retrieved the short ladder leaning in the closet alcove and used it to climb up, carrying the dark colored rope with him. The rope had been folded in half before coiling, which made it easy to pass through the metal eye evenly. He pulled the doubled length through as he stepped back down the ladder.

Elsa enjoyed the show. She had an excellent view of him as he stepped up and down the ladder. When put the ladder away, she brought out a pair of manacles. He balked at the sight of them.

“Those look serious,” he said.

“Put your arms out, thief,” Elsa answered him. She clasped the manacles around each wrist, securing them with small locks through the hasps. She jostled the chain. She saw his understanding rise when he felt their weight and heard the sound the chain made. Into his ear, she whispered, “They’re costume, not iron. I work in theater.” She tied the rope around the chain with a hitch. Minding the slack lines, she pulled on the rope until Flynn stood with his bound wrists above his head. He could bend his elbows slightly. She hitched the rope lines to an eyepin in a column that ran along the wall between floor and ceiling. “I can’t decide whether I should blindfold you or let you see what’s coming,” she said.

“I’ll never tell you where I hid the loot,” he said. “You’ll never get the royal jewels back.”

“I want my crown back,” she said. “Intact. Which, as I understand it, is no longer possible.”

He tossed his head defiantly. “Your crown is intact,” he retorted. He smirked. “Unlike your maidenhead.”

Elsa almost lost it at “maidenhead.” She managed to keep a straight face by biting the inside of her cheek. “That’s why this interrogation is my _personal_ pleasure,” she said. She needed to bring the scene back to sex. Flynn was getting too much into the make-believe. “You’re going to hang either way, but you could spare yourself some pain. What good is keeping your secret? You won’t be able to enjoy your ill-gotten gold.” She picked the bundle of thick plain hemp rope up again and began to unwind it. “But you could avoid suffering for your last hours until the noose.” She made the loop and wound the knot. When she was done, the rope was passable as a gallows noose.

A genuine shudder passed over Eugene when Elsa dropped the noose over his head to check its fit. It’s weight pressed around his neck, the knot against his back, and if he hadn’t seen that the short, loose end was unattached to anything else, he would have been terrified. As it was, he couldn’t say if the thrumming of his heart was anticipation, fear, arousal, or a little of all three. Elsa looked damned good when she was scary. 

She lifted the noose back off and tossed it aside. Then she went to her bag of tricks and dragged it around into his line of sight. She began sorting through it, crouched down beside it, taking out various instruments and putting them back in when she rejected them.

Deliberately, Elsa displayed instruments of pleasure where Flynn could see them. He could see down the top of her dress, too. She made a show of considering insertables, nipple clamps, menacing-looking sensation play tools, and each of the floggers she had brought with her. She settled on a suede flogger that inflicted more thud than sting. She brought the length of the tresses out of the bag as she slowly stood up from her crouch. A flick of her wrist made the tassel swirl. In her other hand, she held a blindfold.

In tying the blindfold on, Elsa pressed her body against Eugene’s. He could feel her body warmth through the latex dress. The dress itself had a slightly sticky quality, sticky and slippery at the same time, and it was more erotic a sensation than if Elsa had been naked. If his hands had been free, he would have grabbed and lifted her so that his obvious response wouldn’t have been pressing against her stomach instead of sliding into the valley of her alabaster thighs.

He whimpered when she put the blindfold on him. Elsa loved that. He was at half mast, too. Men’s bodies betrayed them so easily. With her free hand, she caressed the underside of his erection. She wrapped her hand around his girth and squeezed. He answered with a moan that made her smile grow broader.

She slid the flogger along his calf and up his leg. She swished it against his muscular ass and dragged it up along his spine. She made him shiver. Standing behind him, she hung the flogger over his shoulder so that her hands were free, and touched his nipples with the tips of her fingers, gradually pinching each of them between her sharp fingernails.

“Your fingers are cold,” he groaned and gasped. “God!” 

He had no idea what cold was. Elsa liked keeping him blindfolded, because then she didn’t need to worry about her grinning wrecking the mood. She didn’t consider herself a dom because she couldn’t stay in character as a stern disciplinarian. She took charge because she was the one topping, which she did very well, but she didn’t get high on power.

His body temperature was hot like a sandy beach that had warmed in sunshine. She slid her body up and down against his back. She kissed the back of his neck, then bit down and sucked enough to bring up a hint of purpling. The whole time, he groaned from the back of his throat, mouth slightly open, chest heaving, cock twitching.

The nearby bed opened up with perfect timing. The group using it changed the sheets and pillowcases. She exchanged friendly smiles with them as she tossed on a towel, moved her gear, and set Flynn’s clothes onto the mattress to hold the claim. “We’re moving,” she told Flynn while she pulled the ropes down from the beam. She took off his manacles, too, and replaced them with snugg nylon cuffs that would be kinder to his wrists, anyway, when she flogged him.

Eugene relied on Elsa to guide him where they were going. He shuffled over a few feet before bumping into the shape of the mattress. Reaching out, he found a bedpost. Elsa smacked his behind with a word of encouragement to climb onto the bed, which he did mostly by tumbling forward. He was glad they were moving on to the goal post because he hadn’t had to delay gratification so much in a long time, and he was suffering. The wrist cuffs weren’t promising, nor was it promising when she attached them to tethers and instructed him to kneel on the bed. The bindings made a whisking sound as she pulled them tight. His arms stretched up and out from his sides. He fingered the straps and felt the woven texture of seatbelts. Another strap wound and tightened around his ankles. It would be difficult to move anywhere and impossible to turn around, with the way he was tied up.

He remembered the flogger when the feel of it caressed his feet, making him squirm. “I’m ticklish,” he warned her. “And I get even.”

“Good luck with that,” came her wry answer.

Elsa planted a kiss on his butt cheek and moved off the bed. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She trotted out to the kitchen and retrieved a cup of ice from the cooler. She hurried back, pausing only to pull out a few circle coin condoms from one of the communal bowls. They looked like Hanukkah gelt, a resemblance she found endlessly amusing. On her way through the main room, she noted that Flynn’s wife had been selected by the club’s best rope top for a complex, beautiful suspension. She seemed in her element. Elsa was happy for her.

For a brief moment, she imagined the three of them going out for cocktails and having dinner parties together, even watching pay-per-view in her living room in sweats and snuggies. People like herself, to be friends. She dismissed the fantasy, sucking on a piece of ice to get over her sentimentality. It never worked to rush ahead.

The sight of Flynn brought her focus back. He was leaning forward to take some of the strain off his back. He looked so deliciously helpless, and at the same time, not the least bit submissive. His head tipped as he listened to her sharp heels tap out her trajectory toward him. She slipped off her pumps in the same motion of climbing onto the bed behind him. She scattered her handful of gold foil condoms over the sheets.

She had secured his cuffed wrists to nylon straps attached to each of the bedposts. The straps were an inch wide and had a little give, some flexibility without creating slack. The ends were cinched tightly around the posts at a height that angled Flynn’s arms upward without creating a lot of pressure on his shoulders, stretching his chest so he could take the deep breaths he was going to need. The binding around his ankles was to keep him from kicking her or thrashing himself off the bed if he got sassy. She didn’t plan to hurt him more than he would enjoy in retrospect.

She put a crescent shaped ice cube into her mouth to melt the dry surface, then pushed it out between her lips. Tilting forward connected the wet tip of the ice to the base of Flynn’s spine.

“AAAR _GAH_!”

Flynn’s inarticulate note of surprise made Elsa spit out her ice. It slid down his back, straight for the top of his butt crack, which caused another barrage of ululation from Flynn. Elsa resisted the urge to apologize.

She retrieved the errant ice sliver and set it on the folded towel. Wiping off her fingers first, she took another piece of ice out of her cup.

Elsa’s cold mouth, pressing icy kisses up Eugene’s spine, at first shocked him into vocal protestations, but very quickly it became an erotic sensation that had him straining at his bindings. _Damn_ she was good. The rounded tip of the ice was almost like a very cold tongue. He shivered every time her lips made contact. He whimpered when her hands came around his front, knowing they would be icy cold, too. He expected the frigid touch on his junk and still gasped when her hands worked to return his hardness to full attention.

Her lips were on his neck where she had bit him. The ice would probably prevent the hickey from staying. “I thought you were going to let me have a souvenir,” he said huskily.

“I’ll send you home with something,” Elsa replied. “Somewhere only your wife will see it.”

He laughed, a short, nervous laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

He was about to spoil the mood. “Later,” Elsa put him off. She decided it was a good time to change tactics. If he had time to think about delving questions, then he was doing too much thinking. Time to get him out of his head.

She slid off the bed, set the cup of ice down on the floor, and picked up the flogger.

Eugene yelped when the suede tails made contact with his shoulder, more out of surprise than reaction to the sting. The next strike, which lashed across his ass, stung. “Woah!” he shouted.

“Too hard?” Elsa asked.

“Give me a minute,” he answered. He inhaled a deep breath and let it out. _Shit._ No experience was wasted on a writer. Grimacing, he said, “OK. Go.”

She flogged him across his back in percussive, rhythmic strikes. There was a sting to the lash that felt like… well, like orgasm, electric and mind-blanking. The sting didn’t have time to become throbbing pain because the next thud of the suede tresses overwrote the experience of the one before. Meanwhile, his brain was releasing endorphins like a busted fire hydrant on a hot day. He was sliding into euphoria and felt like a deviant for enjoying the treatment. The steady pounding of being flogged almost felt like a massage.

Then it stopped, and every nerve from knee to shoulder reminded him it was on fire. Elsa made it worse by trailing the flogger tails lightly over his skin. She should have given him a gag to bite down on. What came out of his throat sounded like puppy noises. She removed his blindfold. She unbound his ankles. He cracked open his eyes and turned his head to look at her. He panted against his restrained arm.

She peeled her dress up over her head. She took the hair tie out of her braid and shook her platinum blonde locks loose. She stepped out of her white lace tanga. He knew she was going to do it, and he still wasn’t ready when she pushed up against his back, bare skin on bare skin. Was there such a thing as manly whimpering?

“Now tell me,” she whispered into his ear, “where is my crown?”

For a minute he didn’t follow. Then he remembered their role playing. “Not telling.” It was the best he could do, under the circumstances.

She pulled an end of rope out of her bag. She dropped the noose over his head. Without hurry, she unwrapped the cuffs from each of his wrists. “Are you sure about that?” she threatened.

At the moment, he wasn’t sure about anything. But when he was freed, he twisted around and pushed her down under him. Her hair spilled out in curls across the sheets. Pinning her wrists beside her shoulders, he kissed her. She freed her wrists, and he didn’t push the issue. One of her free hands grasped the lead of the noose and tugged just enough to remind him it was there. She kissed him back, but she also pushed up until they were both sitting. “If you want it,” she said around a kiss, “I’m on top. You’re on your back.”

Eugene winced. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He pleaded with a look, getting nowhere. “Come on,” he wheedled.

He lowered himself gingerly onto the sheets, onto his stinging back. She let go of the rope and he pushed the morbid noose up over his head. Her head went down and landed at the inside of his legs. His back arched when she fixed her mouth to the inside of his thigh, right up beside his balls, and sucked a fresh hickey into existence. She didn’t stop at one. If she gave him head he was going to come too fast, but he couldn’t make himself tell her what to do next.

The sultry way she unrolled the condom over his hardness, the feeling of her hands on him, was almost enough to end him. He pushed himself up on his hands. She straddled him and lowered herself down. Keeping his torso upright with one arm, he put the other arm around her to be closer to her. She began to move on top of him, and he thrust upward to meet her downward motions. He impressed himself with how long he lasted, considering the circumstances.

Elsa would have climaxed from crossing her legs. She was on the precipice even before filling herself with Flynn. She made him come first, then let herself go while he was still riding the wave, and shared moment gave her a sense of fulfillment. He looked so happy, when she opened her eyes and studied him beneath her. She eased herself down to lay across his chest, which forced him onto his back again. He groaned, eyes closed.

She looked up. Someone across the room gave her a thumbs up. She smiled back, then returned her attention to Flynn. “Do you want to get off your back?” she asked. He nodded, without opening his eyes, so she slid off to the side so that he could roll to his side as well. He wriggled himself close to her, one arm over her waist. She put her arms around his neck. He lay his head against her shoulder.

“This is nice,” he said. “You’re nice. Nice lady.”

Elsa blew at the lock of hair across his temple. “Don’t fall asleep,” she said.

He opened his eyes, blinking hard. “I’d better sit up, then.” He put actions to words. Reaching for his clothes, he tipped his head down to her. “Would it spoil things if I asked you about yourself?” he ventured.

“Right now? Yes. It would,” she answered. It was better to be straightforward with the new ones.

He was silent. Her answer had bothered him.

“The illusion is a lot of the charm, Flynn,” she expanded. She said it as kindly as she could. “It’s a fairytale. At least for now, let’s not try to get too much more out of it. Once you break an illusion, it’s impossible to get it back. So no confessions, OK?”

“That sounds like a confession, itself,” he replied. “You’re speaking from experience.” He shifted around so that he could bring his face close, as if to smell her hair. “Who broke your heart?”

Elsa shook her head. “Uh uh. You don’t have the security clearance for that answer.”

He kissed her hair. “So what next? Do we go back to our stories, like strangers?”

“You want more,” she said.

“I want us to be friends,” he answered.

“Maybe we will be,” she said, “someday. Real relationships take time. What you’re feeling right now, that’s because we only know each other on this one level. It’s perfect in its own way. Just this much.” She sat up beside him and turned so that they were face to face.

He gave her a soft kiss on her cheek. Then another, on her lips. Clothed, he stood up. He reached into his pocket, took a card out of his wallet, and handed it to her.

She didn’t take it. She shook her head. “Not a good idea,” she said.

“My business card. So you know how to find me. Hey, it’s self promotion,” he joked.

She took the card so that he would stop holding it out. People were watching, or, if not watching, near enough to be.

“Seriously,” he said, in lower tones. “Think about calling me. I would like to get to know you.”

Elsa slipped the card into the inner pocket of her gear bag. Flynn left the room. In case someone else needed the bed, she began to clean up. He didn’t have any understanding of how things worked, she thought to herself.

A sometimes play partner saw her tidying alone and came over to give Elsa a hand. Elsa let the submissive take over making the bed while she coiled her ropes and arranged her bag. She thought about Flynn, and his wife, knowing that she would end up contacting them in spite of her conviction that it could never work.

 


End file.
